


aisle seven

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Mild Language, One Shot, Past Domestic Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: Daryl and Carol are the only people who go to the store early on Saturday morning. In aisle seven, their paths eventually cross.





	aisle seven

Carol hates crackers. Loathes them, really. They are dry and crumbly and shouldn't be called food.

 

They are, however, the first thing on Sophia's list of things she wants in her lunchbox for her school trip. It's better than a load of candy, Carol supposes, although she does not approve of this new craving. Wondering where her daughter even got the idea, she pushes her heavy cart, keeping an eye out for the crackers. She hasn't bought them in years.

 

Lucky for her, the store is almost empty this early on a Saturday morning. But it's the only time she has to do her weekly shopping, coming out of her night shift at the hospital. Tired to the bone, she usually just grabs the same old things, working her way down her list methodically. Desperate to pick up Sophia and go home.

 

With the aisles mostly deserted, she can take her time, lingering here and there and looking for what she needs.

 

Aisle 7 is where she hits the jackpot.

 

And it also seems to be the only aisle in the entire store with another customer.

 

She has seen the man around the store before. Not difficult to remember considering there's barely a living soul here at this time. Not for the first time, Carol wonders why he is here so early. If he's working a night shift, too or if he just likes to get up early and get things done.

 

He seems like the quiet, brooding type. There's something intriguing about him – clear blue eyes and dark blonde hair that's beginning to grow into his face. Sharp bones and a heavy, worn leather vest. He's not what comes to her mind when she thinks about the kind of men she finds attractive, but she can't deny that he _is_. Mysterious and almost a little dangerous and- What is she even thinking? A man like him isn't interested in a woman like her and even if he was, it wouldn't matter. The last thing she needs in her life is a man wrecking havoc and making trouble the way they always do.

 

Quickly averting her eyes from the man – staring at a box of pretzels, his cart filled mostly with canned food and a few bottles of beer – Carol reads over her list. _Cheese crackers,_ she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes. Sighing, she begins scanning the countless boxes of crackers on the shelves. Ranging from plain to salty to herbs, Carol spots the brand Sophia wrote down in one of the top shelves. Perfect.

 

Folding her shopping list and tucking it into her pocket, Carol lifts up onto the tips of her toes. But even as she stretches her arm as far as it can, her shoulder joint already aching, she only manages to graze the box. There's no way for her to actually grab it. Frustrated, she sets a foot down onto the bottom shelf, hoping it's sturdy enough to carry her weight.

 

_Lemme get that._ The deep and slightly gravelly voice startles her, and Carol gasps, nearly losing her balance. She grasps the handle of her cart with a white-knuckled grip, her body swaying a little as the man reaches up and pulls the damn crackers from the shelf.

 

_Oh._ He's holding the box out for her, either oblivious to her near fall or owner of the most stoic face on this planet. _Thank you,_ she says, offering him a tight-lipped smile and taking the box from him. Ever so slightly, her fingers brush against his – warm and calloused. He pulls back so quickly that she doesn't have time to grasp the box and it tumbles down to the floor before either of them can catch it.

 

_Shit,_ he mutters, already bending down to pick it up. _Sorry._ There's a dent in the bottom left corner of the box but other than that nothing more serious happened. Glad not to have to wipe crumbly crackers from the floor, Carol shakes her head.

 

_It's okay._ The man nods, standing there a little awkwardly with the crackers in his hand. Faintly, his cheeks seem to turn into a slight shade of pink under the stubble of his beard, an unexpected sight that's entirely too distracted.

 

_Ehm,_ he mumbles, looking down at the floor. _Here._ He puts the box down into her cart, stacking it on top of the kitchen roll, avoiding the basket of fresh strawberries she couldn't resist.

 

Before Carol can say anything else, he's turning on his heels and hurrying down the aisle with his cart. She watches him curiously until the angel wings stitched onto the back of his vest disappear around the corner.

 

 

 

When she goes back to the store a week later – rubbing her dry and tired eyes – she's not at all surprised to see him there again. She's picking a few round, ripe peaches from the large display, every now and then allowing her gaze to flicker over towards him. Before, she'd never really allowed herself to really look. But now that she does, she finds him quite intriguing.

 

His cart is still empty, and he's been standing in the same spot for well over a minute, turning a bunch of bananas around and around as if inspecting them. Carol feels the corners of her mouth twitching with a small smile.

 

By the time she makes her way to the grapes, he finally decides to give the bananas a try, setting them down in his cart. He has to turn around to do that, and her staring no longer goes unnoticed.

 

He looks at her for a moment, seemingly a little surprised.

 

Her heart jumps a little for no reason at all and Carol is glued to the spot, unsure what to do. Whether to say something or just ignore him. They're strangers, after all.

 

In the end, she decides to offer him a polite smile. Only, that prompts the same blush she'd noticed on him the last time. When he smiles back it's just a twitch of the corner of his mouth, so slight she nearly misses it. But for some reason, it feels gratifying, almost like she earned it.

 

He whips around then and storms past the remaining fruits and vegetables, aiming straight for the canned goods aisle.

 

 

 

The week after that, she nearly breaks his feet.

 

Lost in thought, Carol pushes her heavy cart down the cereal aisle. Looking at a picture Lori sent her of Carl and Sophia snuggled up on the couch last night, she barely pays any attention to where she's going.

 

Until suddenly, she comes to an abrupt halt.

 

_Fuck!_

 

Carol gasps, nearly tumbling backward when she crashes her cart into some poor- _Oh God!_ Of course it would be _him_. Nobody else is here except for maybe two tired, disgruntled employees and now he's hobbling awkwardly from one foot to the other, face creased in pain, muttering a streak of colorful curses under his breath. _I'm so sorry,_ she gasps, dropping her phone into the cart and hurrying around to him. Only when she's facing him, she doesn't have a clue what to do, remembering how skittish he'd been when she'd accidentally touched him before. _Are you okay?_ she asks, her voice calm but not void of fear because she doesn't know him and he looks a little rough around the edges so God knows how he'll react to having a cart pushed into his heels.

 

_'m fine,_ he mutters, squaring his shoulders. He doesn't sound very convincing.

 

_I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking-_

 

_Hey, 's all right,_ he interrupts her desperate attempt at explaining herself. She eyes him with caution for a moment. But there's no trace of anger that she can find – and she knows anger all too well. _Boots are sturdy,_ he says with a wave down at the heavy footwear, caked with mud and covered in dust. Carol wonders for a moment if he was making a joke, his eyes light but his lips not showing even the slightest hint of a smile.

 

_Thank God,_ she says, sounding a little out of breath. _Imagine if you'd been wearing sandals._

 

That's an image she didn't think could be funny but it is, and he seems to think the same thing, actually snorting out a short laughter. _They'd be wheelin' me outta here, I guess._

 

Giggling at that, Carol can feel herself relaxing a little. Whatever threat he might have posed is now gone and she leans her hip against the side of her cart, suddenly all too intrigued by the sight of his smile and the sound of his laughter. _So... Were the bananas any good?_ she asks, wanting to slap some sense into herself the moment the words pass her lips.

 

Confusion is plain to see on his face. _What?_

 

_I'm sorry,_ she says for the millionth time, a deeply-ingrained habit she can't quite shake. Of course, she'd go ahead and ruin this, whatever this is. But who is she kidding? This isn't _anything_ at all. _That sounded a little creepy._ She sounds like a stalker, she thinks, her cheeks heating up and every fiber of her body screaming at her to just run. _Just... There's never anyone else here. You were staring holes into the bananas last week._ She forces herself to smile in hope of making light of the awkward situation.

 

He doesn't instantly buy it, eyeing her a little curiously for a moment before realizing she's looking at him too. When he does, he quickly averts his eyes. _Oh. Yeah, we're all right, I guess,_ he shrugs. The are both quiet for a moment and Carol ponders how to get out of here as quickly as possible without being rude or even creepier than she's already proven herself to be. He surprises her, though. Worrying the skin around his thumbnail with his nails before asking her a question in return. _How 'bout them crackers?_

 

She's not sure whether or not to be surprised that he remembers that. _They weren't for me,_ she explains, pausing. His eyes quickly flicker down to her hand and Carol self-consciously kneads her ring-less fingers. _For my daughter. She liked them, though._ He gives her one of those half-smiles. _So thanks for rescuing me,_ she chuckles. _I should get going. I have ice cream in there._ The excuse finally comes to her when she no longer feels like running, but it's not a lie. She points at the buckets of chocolate chip and cookie dough ice cream and his brows lift a little, making him look all too- She needs to stop. _Sorry about-_ she starts again but he waves a hand dismissively, reaching back for his own cart.

 

They walk away in two opposite directions, and when Carol reaches the end of the aisle she lingers, curiously turning her head. He's reading the back of a box of Lucky Charms, forehead in creases.

 

_Try the chocolate ones,_ she calls, wondering in the same moment what the hell has gotten into her. He looks up, though, looks back down at the box, back to her and then at the shelf. _Trust me._ She turns around before he can say or do anything, her cheeks flaming.

 

 

 

She's _not_ interested in him. She's not interested in men, period. That's what Carol tells herself as she leans her arms onto her cart and looks at him from a safe distance.

 

He's not even that attractive. Looks like he never showers and he needs to shave and get an actual haircut. Also, that bike that's always in the parking lot is probably his and those things are just noisy and dangerous. He smokes and drinks, that much is clear from what's always in his cart and those are just nasty habits. Also, what kind of a weird person goes shopping early on Saturday morning? She has an actual _reason_ , after all.

 

He's still wearing that vest but ditched the denim jacket below today. And damn. He has _arms_. Carol feels shallow just for thinking it, even worse for staring at the tan, muscled skin that is exposed.

 

Not interested. Not at all.

 

Except she really needs to buy bread and he's standing right in front of her favorite brand, stacking toast into his cart that looks like it's way too much for just one person. He's probably married or has a girlfriend, anyway. Or girlfriends. Maybe he likes to keep busy.

 

(only she doesn't really see him with a woman on his arm, not judging by the way he'd blushed and shied away from her touch)

 

Not even a little interested.

 

_Hey,_ she says as she steps up next to him. He turns and looks a little surprised, nodding with another one of those distracting smiles. _How was the cereal?_ she asks, reaching for her favorite bread. She's not sure why she's bringing this up at all, but the bread alone doesn't seem like reason enough to walk up to him. It's ridiculous, of course. Getting food is the only reason either of them are here.

 

_Was good,_ he replies before growing quiet for a moment. _Ya eat all that ice cream yet?_

 

She huffs. _Are you judging me?_ For a second, Daryl looks genuinely concerned that she misunderstood him. When she laughs, he eases up a little, fingers still fidgeting nervously against his thigh. _Sophia and I had a movie night. My daughter,_ she clarifies, wondering why she's telling him this. She might as well get out her phone and show him pictures of her little girl, of their house, of last year's 4 th of July barbecue at the Grimes house. Why not show him that one picture she has left on her phone with Ed on it? The day Sophia started school. She's oversharing but now that she started it would seem even more awkward to stop. _We didn't eat it all. Just... a lot._ He raises his eyebrows, giving her a slow nod that seems entirely unfair. _That's a lot of bread,_ she remarks, pointing at the stack in his cart.

 

_'s for work._

 

He looks at her sheepishly through the strands of his hair, and she wonders how one man could radiate so many contradicting things. His rough exterior seems like nothing more than a shield. _What do you do?_ she asks, her curiosity spiked.

 

_Repair cars. Bikes mostly._ Well, that most likely confirms her earlier suspicion. Maybe one of the few that are true – he probably showers more than she gave him credit for because he doesn't smell bad at all. _Work down on Quarry Lane._

 

_I know that place. I took my husband's car there-_ She pauses, even after four years still feeling the phantom pain of her wedding ring around her finger. _Ex-husband._ Correcting herself wasn't required but she does it anyway, avoiding eye contact for a moment and staring at his chest instead. _I didn't see you there._

 

He shrugs. _'m easy ta miss._

 

He sounds so self-deprecating that her heart clenches a little. She doesn't know him, but it's easy to tell even through the rough, calloused exterior that he's lacking some very necessary self-esteem. _That's not true,_ she says quietly and the silence that follows is tense as he nervously looks down at his feet. _I'm Carol, by the way._ It only feels right to finally tell him her name and she so desperately wants to find out his.

 

_Daryl,_ he replies, voice low and a little shy.

 

Deciding to take a risk, Carol holds out her hand. _Nice to meet you._ For a moment, he eyes her outstretched hand and her nerves flutter. Worried he might reject her, she's ready to pull away but then he shakes her hand. His own is warm, calloused. A firm touch that is fleeting, but the tingle it leaves behind lingers.

 

Neither of them makes a conscious decision to move but standing in front of the bread seems silly after a while. Pushing their respective carts down the aisle, they walk silently for a moment.

 

_Y'always here on Saturdays?_ Daryl asks after a short while, and Carol turns to look at him, a jar of pickles in her hand. _Saw y'around a couple o' times._ He seems nervous to ask her a question at all, clearly struggling to even look at her. The way he reaches for a can of chickpeas seems too much like a distracting for himself.

 

_I work the night shift on Fridays,_ she explains, not quite able to hide the grin when he puts the can back onto the shelf. _I'm a nurse. So, I usually just grab what I need for the week before going home. It's easier that way._ It means she has more time during the week, and one hour less of sleep doesn't matter much to her.

 

They walk further down the aisle, the carts squeaking a little against the tiled floor. _That's gotta be tough. Workin' all night._

 

_I got used to it._ It had been a struggle at the beginning. Those first few months after she started working again after a decade of not being allowed. She'd nearly fallen asleep making Sophia breakfast, but over time her body adjusted to the new schedule. _Is that bike outside yours?_ she asks, making use of his current openness to ask a few questions of her own. He hums in affirmation, grabbing a bottle of ketchup and tossing it a little carelessly into his cart. She eyes it for a moment, the bread and the meat and a whole array of microwave meals. Y _ou should eat some vegetables,_ she says, her mouth curling into a half-smile.

 

_Ya judgin'_ me _now?_ Daryl asks, huffing.

 

Carol can feel her cheeks warming up a little at the teasing tone, and she decides to play along. _Maybe a little._

 

If she was blushing before then he's positively on fire now, mouth quirking into a grin before he looks down at his hands curled around the handle of the cart.

 

They make their way through a few more aisles in an oddly comfortable silence, making no more than a handful of comments about the food they chose and what kitchen roll works best. Eventually, he excuses himself, saying he needs to head over to the dog food.

 

Carol smiles and nods, biting back the million questions she suddenly has. What kind of a dog he has, where he lives, what his favorite movie is and how he likes to spend his time off.

 

_Daryl?_ she calls after him, pressing her fingers to her lips almost instinctively as if to keep herself quiet. He turns, waiting. _Why are you always here so early?_

 

He shrugs, takes a look around the place. _Ain't nobody else around to bother me._

 

_I'm around._

 

For a moment, he just looks at her with those blue eyes. They look almost haunted, Carol wonders. Then he nods and even from the distance she can see his lips curling into a smile.

 

Her stomach flips at the sight.

 

 

 

_Oh God, she's so adorable,_ Carol coos a week later, leaning over her cart to look at the picture on Daryl's phone. The dog with shiny, long brown fur is curled up on a black leather couch, paws dangling off the edge.

 

Daryl snorts, swiping his thumb over the screen, revealing a new picture. _Little rat's what she is._ She doesn't believe him for a second, falling in love with the furry sweetheart on the spot. The next picture shows Daryl with her in his arms – much too big but without a care in the world.

 

_What's her name?_ she asks, smiling softly at the next picture of Daryl's hand on a fluffy, round belly.

 

_Got 'er from a shelter. Already had a name._ She turns to look at him, watching as he eyes her from his periphery. _Daisy._

 

It doesn't sound like a name he'd have chosen, but she likes it all the same. _That's a pretty name._

 

He shrugs, puts the phone back into his pocket. Carol pushes her cart again, steering it towards the pasta. _Ya got any pets?_ Daryl asks, arms crossed in front of his chest but with that shy curiosity twinkling in his eyes.

 

_No,_ she replies with a thin-lipped smile. Ed had been against it, not wanting to waste money on an animal, not wanting the hair around the house. Mostly, she thinks, he just said no because their little girl wanted it so much. _Sophia really wants to but I'm not sure._ They're finally settling into their new life and adding a pet seems like something that would disrupt the routine they so carefully built for themselves. _I'd like to, though._

 

Daryl smiles, nodding. _'s great. Maybe start small, get her a hamster or somethin'._

 

Carol chuckles, rolling her eyes at him.

 

 

 

All week, Carol suddenly feels herself looking forward to Saturday morning.

 

 

 

When Daryl stacks the fourth can of peaches into his cart, Carol can no longer stay quiet. _Why are you buying so much canned food?_ she asks, eyeing the ravioli and soups and fruits that take up most of his cart. Two apples and a cucumber are hidden somewhere in between, sad and lonely and likely to be squashed. _Is the world ending?_

 

He turns to look at her with a dead serious expression. _Didn't ya get the memo?_

 

For a moment, he manages to hold the tension, then they both break at the same time. He snorts and Carol rolls her eyes. _Funny,_ she says, almost tempted to stick her tongue out at him but what kind of a person does that? _If there's a zombie outbreak, I guess I'll just go and find you when I need food._ He grins a little at that and she feels bold enough to nudge her elbow into his side. Just lightly. He doesn't tense up this time. _Here's a deal,_ she says, reaching for a glass of sour cherries. _Next week, I pick a recipe for you to try._

 

She's suddenly overcome by excitement, can't wait to get Daryl to eat some real food. He, however, doesn't look very convinced. _What's in it for me?_

 

Carol ponders that for a moment. _Good food?_

 

He shakes his head, more in humor than in dismissal. _Don't sound like that good of a deal to me,_ he says, taking another can of peaches for good measure.

 

 

 

Daryl's forehead creases as he re-read the handwritten recipe in his hand. All the ingredients are in his cart, more fresh vegetables than she has seen him buy since she first started to really notice him. _An' I just dump it all in one pot?_ he asks for the fourth time, raising his brows.

 

_Yup._

 

He eyes everything Carol put in his cart, shaking his head. _Ain't no way that's gonna work._

 

Rolling her eyes, Carol snatches the recipe from his hand. He's making such a fuss. _It will. I promise._ It's easy enough, as little actual work as possible. She figured that might be just what he needs to eat a little more thoughtfully.

 

_What do I get if I don't like it?_ he asks, and Carol cocks her head to the side. She's feeling good today, bold.

 

_Well, what do you want?_

 

He looks at her a little dumbfounded, and she didn't expect the tension that suddenly fills the air between them like static. Surely she's imagining it, but his eyes flicker down to her lips for a beat of a moment before he looks away, clearing his throat. _Gonna think about it._

 

 

 

The next week, she's waiting for him in front of the store. Leaning against the cool glass, her hands drumming against her legs. When she sees him – climbing off his motorcycle and pulling off the helmet, shaking his hair – she grins in anticipation. _And?_ she asks before he has even crossed the parking lot.

 

He rolls his eyes. _It was good,_ he admits in defeat and Carol actually feels herself bouncing off the ground for a moment.

 

_Ha! Told you._

 

She's curious what he came up with in case he didn't like it, but she's not quite brave enough to ask.

 

 

 

When he isn't at the store the next Saturday, Carol feels disappointed. Suddenly being almost all alone in the big store makes her feel lonely.

 

Then again, maybe it's for the best. She's busy, after all. Staring down at the endless list of things she needs, she sighs. Fatigue and exhaustion have dug their way deep into her bones and today is not shaping up to be a great day.

 

Half an hour later, she's pushing an overflowing cart down the last aisle, wondering how on Earth she's going to fit toilet paper in there, too.

 

_Is the world ending?_ Daryl's voice startles her a little, interrupting the monotonous hum of the radio that echoes from the speakers. She whips her head around and there he is, holding a red basket and smiling shyly.

 

A grin spreads across her face the moment she sees him, her stomach fluttering in an annoying but by now familiar way. _Didn't you get the memo?_ she quips, remembering he'd said the same thing not too long ago. _It's Sophia's birthday tomorrow,_ she explains with a sigh. _Big party._

 

The prospect of ten children in her house isn't exactly appealing, but Ed never allowed birthday parties and so these last few years, she's been working hard to make up for that. Taking her ice skating and to a water park, to the cinema. Only now at twelve years old, the _children_ aren't really children anymore and not as easily impressed.

 

_Ya need some help with all that?_ Daryl asks, pointing at her embarrassingly full cart.

 

Being offered help still feels odd to her, almost uncomfortable. She'd refused it for so long, had been conditioned into never asking for it. But as she eyes the mountain of food and drinks, she realizes that she really could do with a second pair of hands. And arms. But she doesn't like to think about those too much. _Oh. Yes, please,_ she says with a shy grin.

 

_'m just gonna grab a few things._ Daryl points at his meagerly filled basket. _Meet ya outside?_

 

She nods, watching him for a second as he disappears around a corner before heading towards the toilet paper.

 

 

_I don't think my car's even going to start,_ Carol groans as Daryl dumps the last of her bags into her trunk. She'll be lucky if she can even get it to close, picturing one of those overflowing suitcases in movies – the kind that someone has to sit on to zip up. But she can't exactly sit on her car.

 

_Nah, 's a good car,_ Daryl reassures her, patting the back of her car like it's a racehorse or something.

 

She smiles at that, nudging her hip to the side so she can rest it against her car. _Thanks._

 

Daryl just nods, and they're quiet for a moment. The early morning air is mild and fresh, no sound disturbing the parking lot except for the chirping of birds and the faint rumble of planes overhead. _Got somethin' for ya,_ Daryl interrupts the silence then, reaching for his own bag on the ground. He rummages through it for a second and Carol watches with creased brows.

 

This is new.

 

His face is beaming red when he hands her a tub of ice cream. Expensive ice cream. The kind she never gets because she doesn't want to waste her money on it. She can't even remember mentioning this to him. _What-_

 

_'s for ya little girl. An' for you,_ Daryl explains, making a point of not looking at her. Instead, he seems to eye the concrete below, nudging his boot against the dusty ground. _For when you're doin' another movie night._

 

Carol can feel her heart skipping a beat before it swells in her chest, and she's frozen in complete surprise. _Daryl-_ she begins, her voice breaking a little and she wonders if the sting in her eyes are actual tears. She blinks them away, but the lump in her throat remains.

 

Daryl interrupts her before she can finish, sound self-deprecating again and almost as if he regrets his decision. _I know I ain't-_

 

It hurts to see him to insecure, and so Carol does the only thing that feels right. Tossing all caution and all her own fears to the wind she takes a step towards him, her hands coming up to rest against his shoulders. Partly for balance, partly just because she wants to, her splayed fingers graze the exposed skin of his upper arm, warm and smooth.

 

He tenses for a split second, probably not realizing what she's doing until she presses her lips to his cheek. The scruff of his beard is rough against her skin but not necessarily in a bad way, she thinks.

 

They have never been this close before and so Carol lingers for a few seconds longer than necessary. Her eyes flutter shut when she breathes in the scent of him – pine and motor oil and something else that seems to be just _him_.

 

This isn't her. Or at least, this hasn't been her for a long time. It feels bold and brave and everything she hasn't been allowed to be for so long. She'd had fire inside of her once, a fire that Ed suffocated. But maybe a small flame remained all this time and it's lapping at her insides now. Eager. Wanting.

 

_Thank you,_ she breathes, feeling Daryl shudder against her. It conjures a smile onto her face that he must be able to feel where her lips still graze his cheeks. Then, slowly and with a little reluctance, Carol pulls away.

 

His face is just as red as before and she expected him to avoid eye contact. But he surprises her and looks her straight in the eyes, just a few inches between them. It allows her to spot the different shades of blue in his eyes and the outlines of a few small scars on his face.

 

A part of her wants to lean in and taste his lips, feel them moving against her own. But she holds back, slowly lets her hands drop from his shoulders. As her fingertips feather down the length of his arms, he shivers again, so immensely responsive to her touch that she feels a tug low in her belly.

 

_I have to go,_ she says quietly, knowing that Lori is waiting for her to pick up Sophia. Daryl nods, his throat bopping as he swallows. With another smile, she takes the ice cream from him, stuffing it into one of the bags in her trunk.

 

_See ya next week?_ Daryl asks, and Carol looks over her shoulder at him. Neither of them have ever asked this before. It was a silent sort of agreement to meet here every week until now. A coincidence at first.

 

She nods, already feeling tingly and nervous at the prospect of seeing him again in a way she hasn't allowed herself to feel until now. He smiles again, that small, shy smile of his, before turning away.

 

Shutting the trunk, Carol fumbles with her keys for a moment, surprised by how much her hands are trembling. As she climbs into her car, she can't help but turn around to look at Daryl. He's busy packing his things into the bags at the back of his bike, his broad shoulders and lowered head all she can see.

 

Somehow, it doesn't feel right to end this day here. To drive away and hope they can pick up where they left off next week. This step she just took is bigger than she fully comprehends and maybe he'll shy away from her the next time they see each other. They'd both been brave today, but maybe she needs to be just a little braver.

 

Gathering all her courage, she climbs back out of the car. _Daryl!_ she calls, loud enough for him to hear without shouting. He spins around, his helmet in his hands. Leaving her car door open, Carol takes a few strides across the parking lot. _Do you..._ Suddenly, her throat closes up and she feels lost. This is territory she hasn't entered in far too long. _Maybe we could... watch a movie? At the cinema. Just us. They might have ice cream there, too._ She's rambling now, wondering if maybe instead of fixing things she's only making everything worse.

 

Daryl's eyes widen a little and she should have expected that the moment she decided to ask him out on an actual movie date. The kind that involves sitting next to each other in the dark and maybe grab dinner afterward. Not the kind she's used to now, snuggled up on her couch in her pajamas with her daughter.

 

She has a feeling that this is mostly uncharted territory for Daryl, too.

 

_Yeah,_ he rasps then, clearing his throat. _Yes. We could. I mean.... I want that._

 

A heavy weight lifts off her shoulders and all she wants to do is rush over there and kiss him again. But she doesn't. Just lets the smile stretch her lips that fills her heart with lightness and watches excitedly as he does the same.

 


End file.
